


ASHAMED.

by judesrivers



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, First Meeting, M/M, My own version of July 6th, Paul and George have a complex relationship, Slow Burn, future fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judesrivers/pseuds/judesrivers
Summary: After the letters are read in the first therapy session, Paul’s story of how he meets and how his relationship with John Lennon begins. Well his side, at least.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	ASHAMED.

_Summer, 1957_. 

_Rip_. 

“Hey, that was mine!” The redheaded, freckled, 5’11, 15 year old girl barked as she purposely pressed up against the back of Paul McCartney. 

Whipping around, the boy held out his right hand to gently push the girl off of him. “Scuse’ me miss girl, but I found this first.” He casually replied, holding up the fundraiser flier. Just for the sake of getting his point across, he waved it around condescendingly in front of her face. 

“Wanker.” The girl spat, aggressively shoving Paul against the school wall. Immediately she pressed her forearm against his throat, all the while towering over his 5’7 size. With a rural growl, she spoke lowly.“Give it to me now.” 

“Or what?” Paul bravely queried, his eyes glancing down to the balling first forming at the taller girl’s side. Ouch, that would hurt. She’s a muscular bird, and it did not help that she was already choking Paul out with her forearm pressing into his neck. 

“I’ll gauge those pretty eyes out.” She sneered at him with dangerous venom, something that scared anyone half of her size. Which was literally all of Liverpool Institute Secondary school. Point proven, only because any other student that passed by acted like Paul was not getting choked to death in front of a bulletin board. 

Paul stared at her intently for a couple of seconds, his eyes wide with a question in this girl’s sanity, right until he caught the presence of George Harrison walking up to the fight. 

“Hello Cindy.” George calmly greeted, eyes plain and voice flat as if this was an everyday thing. 

To be honest, it was. 

From the sound of Harrison’s voice, Cindy immediately dropped Paul and whirled around. Her eyes softened with that ever so powerful look of love, a blush painted her cheeks, and her heart sped up faster than a cheetah chasing its prey. Clasping her hands together in front of her, and bowing down a bit to George’s height, she gazed promisingly at her “boyfriend” with everlasting admiration. 

“Georgie, you’re here!” She exclaimed, voice soft and embedded with love. 

Paul had just rolled his eyes as George raised himself up to his tippy toes, planting a kiss on the girl’s cheek. Massaging his neck, Paul waited until the words exchanged between George and Cindy were done before making another move. 

“My love, what have I told you about ruffling up my mate?” He softly questioned, lifting single finger to swat a strand of redhead hair out of the way. “You know better than this.” George gently scolded, squeezing her hand with his other hand. 

“I was reading a flier and he snatched it off the bulletin board before I can finish Georgie.” Her eyes sparkled in shame. “Real rude, it was you know? I’m sorry Georgie, don’t be mad at little ole me.” 

_‘Real little you are, you’re taller than him you giant_ _.’_ Paul scrunched up his nose as if he was a bunny in disgust. 

“I apologize on his behalf love, and I promise he won’t do it again.” George said, lying straight through his teeth when he passed a reassuring wink over towards his older mate. 

“Pinky promise?”

George had only nodded his head, holding up his pinky to her eye level with a lazy smile on his face. 

Paul had then quickly turned his head as they began to sloppily tongue each other down. 

•••

The bus went over a pothole that made Paul fly out of his seat. George was in stitches, caressing his stomach as he doubled over in his seat while Paul tried his best to clamber back into his seat. 

“Do you mind helping me up? I’m trying to read this you know.” Paul grunted, waving the flier up as he swayed from side to side at each bump in the road that hit him. 

George grasped at Paul’s shirt sleeve, and whisked him up. “You lost weight you know.” An off handed, compliment (?) came from George immediately after he yanked Paul up next to him.

Paul moved his hair out of his face, and straightened up the flier as he sat back in his seat. “Really,” Paul breathed, and glanced over at George. “Why’d you say that?”

George made noncommittal a noise, and evasively grabbed at the side of Paul’s shirt. “You see you use to have a hard time buttoning these up. Now it’s hanging off your bloody waist.” He explained in a simple Harrison-way, before quickly shifting his hand back to his lap sumptuously. 

Paul really hadn’t noticed his weight loss at all. To him, he still looked the same. At the same time, after his mother died, he really lost sight of his appearance and the food he keeps up with. How uncharacteristically consistent it is for him now, at times he’d still be cautious about how he looks, but most of the time that was the last thing that came to his mind. To be frank, this is the first time in ages he noticed something about his appearance, thanks to George. George, of course, would be the one point something out for him. 

Maybe George had always done it and he hasn’t really noticed until his mum died. Or maybe he’s gone so far off, he doesn’t noticed anything simple about himself anymore. 

The sound of George’s voice made him finally blink after a minute and a half. “So anyway, uh what is that flier rubbish?” George asked, obviously thinking that he made the mood go southward.

Maybe it was best if the subject changed anyway . “A music fundraiser, and it’s happening on July 6th.” Paul answered, reading the headlines. “For one, or for all. Anyone is welcomed.”

“We’ll be out of school by then.” George inquired, skimming the page from the side of his eyes before shifting his gaze back to his lap. 

“You have your guitar fixed don’t you? Why don’t you come with me.” Paul exclaimed, looking over at George with nail biting excitement. 

“I don’t know if I can Paul.” George replied firmly, as if he just wanted to decline the invitation without experiencing the disappointment spreading across Paul’s features. 

It was awkwardly quiet for a couple of seconds. George feared that Paul was mad at him, and that the older boy would shut him out like he did the week his mother died. Which was a harsh time for George because Paul was what made it seem worthy to get on this bus everyday at seven in the morning. 

Resting his forehead against the window of the bus, George held himself and wished for this bus ride to be over already. 

“So Cindy huh?” Paul casually began to talk again, his voice different and more relaxed. 

George did not know how to reply, so he just laughed nervously. “Yeah that’s my little shake n bake.” 

‘ _Little_.’ Paul snorted, and shook his head. “Ever so unpredictable Harrison. You know - she could have really bruised me. She fights like a bloody bloke.” He explained, folding the flier up as he talked, before putting it into his pocket. 

George huffed, “She’s a nice lass. Well, nice with the mouth, she is.” 

Paul dared a glance at the younger boy, and cocked his brow which signified that Paul would start a random interrogation. 

“Oh- are you saying that you lost it?” Paul dauntlessly asked, his voice lowered with a curious tilt of his head. 

George felt a hot blush swarm his cheeks, assumptions springing through his head as he let the question sink in. “Lost what?” 

Paul twisted his lips, and gave him a smug stare. “You know.”

“No,” George grunted, feeling comically uncomfortable. “We haven’t gotten that far. Plus, I don’t want to. Not with her.” 

Paul only snickered, and grounded his palm against his nose when it began to tickle. Taking the opened window of silence, it was George’s turn to interrogate. “What about you? All these years of knowing you, I haven’t seen you ask out a bird yet.” 

Paul placed his hand down to his lap, and gave George a deadpanned look. “I don’t have the time to worry about girls Geo. What do I look like bringing some needy bird round my pap and brother? Especially when they’re both— 

_Fucked in the head_. 

—still messed up after ma’s death.”Paul finished coolly, while folding his hands in his lap. 

“Wouldn’t another girl in the house do you all well though?” George asked, cautiously though, that same expression on Paul’s face was back. It was time for George to tread again. 

Paul clenched his jaw, and a flash of irritation blanketed across the glimmering pools of hazel. “Just drop it Geo. I’m not interested in girls right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah right. Sorry.” George replied, his voice was soft but timid. 

•••

“Paul come here.” 

Paul let his pencil still on his notebook, and he could only stare at the unfinished maths problem. Fuck, what did his father want? The last thing Paul wanted to do is get up off of his bed, and bob up to his father like a trained dog. 

Instead of actually moving, Paul continued to simplify the algebraic expression. Sometimes he could trick himself into thinking whoever was calling him was just a figment of his imagination. Little times it worked, most of the time it earned him punishment for ‘ignoring’ his family. It was not Paul’s fault for social distancing himself from his family, it was more like a muscle memory to just forget how to socialize with them. 

“Paul!” 

Kissing his teeth, and groaning in annoyance, Paul smacked the pencil down and rolled out of his bed to purposely let his body collide with the floor. 

Jim was leaning against the kitchen counter when his eldest son finally ventured into his line vision. “How many times do I have to call you?” He asked, with an annoyed shake of his head when all he got in return was a shrug. 

“I didn’t hear you the first time.”

“Yes, alright, sure. Anyway, do you know that festival that’s happening next week?” 

Paul immediately scratched his head with one hand, and felt around his pockets with the other one. “Yeah, yeah, I have a flier about that. Something about a music festival, and everyone can come.” 

Jim allowed himself to relax as Paul held up the neatly folded flier. “Are you going?” 

Paul blinked, not knowing why this even mattered right now. “I was going to go with George, but he’s busy with something. Why does it matter?” 

“I want you to take Michael. He’s been cooped up here and at school, he doesn’t even go with his friends anymore.” Jim said, pushing himself off of the counter and transitioning over to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair for himself, and one for Paul to sit in front of him. 

Exhaling through his nose, Paul walked over towards the table and took a seat in front of his father. 

Before Paul could attempt to argue, Jim continued. “Listen, before your mother died. We’d always go out to things, remember? I know October is still fresh in both of your heads, hell its fresh in my head too.”

Paul put the flier onto the table, and immediately placed both hands underneath his thighs. He hated this. Why can’t they act like everything was normal? Like October never happened. 

“I just want things between you and Michael to at least be the same. He’s only thirteen. Your birthday just passed. None of you talked to each other since that day. I know I haven’t been the best father, more short tempered and dismissive - I’m sorry for that.” Jim placed a fatherly, affectionately, protective hand on his son’s knee. “At least just go out with him and do something. I’ll give you the rest of my check that I received from my job. Buy anything you want, do anything you want, that day will be yours.” 

With the warmth of Jim’s hand on his knee, Paul forced himself to reckon with his father’s suggestion. Maybe if he wanted things to be normal, than going out with his little brother would be the best for now. The tired gleam in Jim’s eyes, and the almost desperate sound of his voice already had Paul on the edge of just saying yes. Hell he has nothing else to do at the same time. 

Maybe he could bring his guitar, or something. 

Probably not, that would be too much to carry. He was tired of carrying things. 

“Alright.” Paul shortly replied, lifting a hand from underneath his thigh to robotically move his dad’s hand from his knee. 

Jim recoiled as if the action had stung him like a bee. “Right, right. Good talk. I love you.” 

“I know.” 

•••

_Farmers gum_ . Paul was far from a farmer but he loved chewing on farmers gum. It’s what kept him from smoking his lungs to death. You see all of November and December, the two harsh months after his mother had died, he always had a cigarette in his mouth. One time his father caught him lighting one up in the backyard, and he got it smacked out of his mouth so hard, his jaw was sore for weeks. 

Paul was perched up against the trunk of a tree in a isolated field he found the other week. It was rumored that during World War 2, this exact field was a testing bomb site and radiation could strike whoever visited it. Upon hearing that, Paul was quick to try it out just because he already felt like a walking zombie. 

Paul flipped through the pages of a journal he kept. Filled with lyrics, some were finished and some weren’t. A bit of the pages were drawings of his mother nearby a window, those drawings were stained with teardrops that would slip from Paul’s eyes momentarily. 

Paul let the tip of his fingers brush against a certain drawing which was his favorite. It was his mother, dressed in her nurse uniform with a smile on her face. This one took him weeks to do. 

There was still bits of erasure from past sketches, but it only reflected on how important he wanted this one to be. 

“Isn’t she a beauty?” 

Paul emitted a loud shriek that made crows from a ten mile radius flock. He tensed, throwing his journal about ten feet up in the air and dropping his _farmers gum_ _ ™️ _ from his mouth. Paul himself had literally flew away from the tree trunk, and stared at it crazily, hoisting himself up by his elbow. With his eyes cartoonishly wide, he questioned his sanity, thinking that the bluebird settled in its nest in a branch above had been the one that talked to him. 

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, and glanced around wildly until he saw a hand extend from above him. Paul leaned his head back a bit, just to see a boy standing above him - upside down at his angle - with an amused expression on his face. 

“Are you just going to sit there or are you going to let me help you up?” He asked, and Paul’s bones rattled at the strong liverpudlian accent that his mother told him to stray away from. 

Paul awkwardly, twisted himself around and lifted his hand up to grasp at the other boy’s. Swiftly, he was lifted up and they were suddenly closer to each other than Paul wanted them to be at this moment. 

Once he got to his feet, Paul immediately withdrew his hand from the strangers and stepped back to look around for his beloved journal that was launched into space from outburst. 

“Well you’re welcome.” The other boy sarcastically murmured. He had then crossed his arms and stared amusedly at Paul who was circling the tree like a dog. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my uh- journal.” Paul had hurriedly replied as he came from round the tree. He lifted a hand to the back of his head, and scratched impulsively. “How did you- what are you- who are you?” 

The boy uncrossed his arms, and tilted his head as he stared at Paul who was pale as a ghost. “I’m John Lennon.” He replied before bending down, and picking up a navy blue journal that was right in front of him. “And your diary is right here.” 

Paul became flustered as he watched John wave the flimsy book around, which made him rush over towards John to snatch at his journal. “It’s not a diary!” 

“It’s not a diary,” John had mocked in a high pitched voice, while flinging his hands about. “Yeah right Paul.” 

Paul was startled, offended and insulted all at once. “Wait- how do you know my name?” 

“It says it on your diary.” 

“It’s _not_ a-“ Paul intensively began, but immediately exhaled and shook his head. “You know what? You must be a year 11. Leave me alone why don’t you? I don’t have time to deal with people like you.” 

John narrowed his eyes, and stepped forward which did not make Paul move an inch. If he was going to get beat up by some auburn haired, 5’9, ridiculously handsome lad with the last name that rhymes with Lemon then so be it. 

Paul stared up at him as John was now inches away from his face, he could feel the soft puffs of John’s breath coat his cheeks. 

They shared intense eye contact for about forty-eight seconds until John had finally broke it. “You’ve got long eyelashes.” 

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, and became even more flustered. “What?” 

“I’ve never met a bloke with long eyelashes like yours. I mean look at them.” 

Paul shook his head, for some reason, speechless. What kind of drugs is this guy on?

“John!” They both tensed at a female voice coming from afar. “John love!” 

John had chewed at the inside of his mouth while he faced the direction of whoever was calling out to him. Paul slowly turned his gaze back towards John, ignoring the prominent jawline and eye capturing side profile of the other boy. 

“Aren’t you going to uh- you know- go?” Paul awkwardly asked, wanting this boy out of his sight immediately. 

John blinked, and looked back at Paul. “Yeah. What’s it to you?” He asked, moving his face closer to Paul which caused the shorter boy to back up unless he wanted to get kissed by some random boy. 

“I want you out of my face.” Paul bravely responded, and now it was John’s turn to move back. 

John stared at him, ready to say something until the voice called out again. 

“John!” 

“I’m coming mum!” He called back, as he exhaled in frustration. 

Immediately with an annoyed scowl, John suddenly raised a broached hand up to Paul’s chest. Paul looked at it in confusion until the boy, rammed his hand into his chest harshly which caused Paul to literally fly back and crash against the tree trunk. Paul hit the back of his head hard, which caused him to immediately grasp onto it in pain. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, as he opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of John. Instead he noticed that the boy was no longer standing there. While he rubbed the back of his skull, he watched as the boy sprinted across the field into the forest from which Paul had came from to get here. 

Finally, that kid is gone. What was his problem? Paul shook his head, standing up to straighten himself out before walking over to where he had thought he dropped his notebook after being shoved. 

Instead, it was _gone_. John had most likely took it after he pushed him. 

Soon enough Paul blacked out, anger paralyzing his national thoughts and a cold chilling of fear of losing his last personal memory of his mom. 

“Hey!” He shouted in the distance as anger prickled his skin, “Come back here you fucking prick!” 

Instead all he got in return was loud silence. 

•••


End file.
